


Trophy

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver comes for the twins but stays for Percy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn’t properly British.

Oliver kicks the mud off his shoes on the doorstep, and as soon as the door opens, he wishes he hadn’t.

Fred and George wouldn’t have cared, but even though Percy doesn’t show it, Oliver’s sure he disapproves. He looks, at first, surprised, then greets, “Oliver,” and opens the door to let him in. As Oliver sheepishly shuffles past him, he says, “The twins are still out. They should be back soon.” 

Nodding along and bending to properly untie his shoes, Oliver asks, “Mind if I wait for them?” They’re supposed to be having a game of Quidditch, half for fun and half to just keep in touch now that Oliver’s out of Hogwarts, but in truth, there’s a different reason Oliver invites himself over. 

That reason wanders back into the kitchen, chirping, “No, that’s fine.” Straightening, Oliver follows, to see Percy bent over the counter, facing away from him, mixing ingredients by hand into a large bowl. He’s dressed casually in tight jeans and an oversized sweater, but of course, nothing ever looks _truly_ casual on Percy. His fiery hair is neatly brushed, his jeans so smooth that they may as well have been ironed, his sweater matching the ensemble and wrapping him up to be snug but not cumbersome. It’s like something out of Oliver’s fantasies: a weekend off with a cute hubby, making breakfast to slip onto Oliver’s plate.

Percy unwittingly continues the fantasy by saying, “I’m making zucchini pancakes—do you want any?”

Oliver has to fight the urge to stick out his tongue; he isn’t one for hidden vegetables. But he’ll take just about anything Percy feeds him, so he says, “Yes.” He misses the days when a game would be approaching, and Percy would have to bring him meals in between practices to keep him from passing out. He misses their exam times just as much, when he would have to remind Percy to eat amidst studying, lest Percy forget entirely. 

They’re a fanatical pair, but they worked well together, and perhaps Oliver’s biggest regret is that he doesn’t have that in his life anymore. He has to make up excuses to see Percy, and even then, he gets Percy’s back, cute though it is, fussing over other things. 

While Percy studiously fetches and mixes in stray ingredients, all measured meticulously, Oliver sits at the chipping kitchen table and asks, “How’s the Ministry going?”

Percy pauses, maybe considering his recipe, then answers crisply, “Excellent. I’m highly valued. I have an entry-level position, of course, but I think I’ve proven my work ethic and I’m steadily moving up in terms of quality tasks, contributing, in places, to the minister himself.”

If the twins were here, Percy would never say so much, because they’d only tease him. Oliver, who has a tendency to chatter on about his own achievements, just says, “That’s wonderful, Perce.” Percy pauses again, while Oliver pushes on, completely genuine, “You deserve it. I bet you’ll be running the place in no time.”

When Percy glances over his shoulder, there’s a slight frown on his lips. The light of the window over the sink slips along his glasses, silhouetting his side and making his hair glow at the ends. Finally, Percy gives a small, maybe appreciative smile, and turns back around. “And you?”

“Still in talks with Puddlemere United.” He could go on about how it might not be his first choice, but he’ll take any team to play; Quidditch is his dream job. But he doubts Percy follows much Quidditch, now that Oliver isn’t there to watch games with him and comment, so he moves on to sigh, “I guess almost everything’s working out the way we wanted. I’ll get to play, you’re at the Ministry, you’re even making me breakfast...”

Percy laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, made all the more sacred because Oliver knows it’s something hard earned. He’s mentioned it before to the twins, who claim Percy doesn’t know how to laugh at all, but they seem to miss all of Percy’s best features. Percy asks with the chuckle still in his voice, “You wanted me making you breakfast?”

“Okay,” Oliver admits, “Maybe that was more part of the daydream than solid goals. But then, I never was good on focusing on goals that weren’t like sports.” Percy freezes.

This is the harder subject to broach. Oliver didn’t come here to do it, but every time he does visit the Burrow, it’s in the back of his mind, always looking for the right moment, the perfect opportunity. He should’ve come out with it years ago. Percy looks around at him again, and Oliver licks his lips, trying to read on Percy’s face how this is going to play out. 

Percy looks stern, the way he does when his brothers are playing a trick on him and he’s just waiting it out. Summoning a well of courage, Oliver pushes out of his chair. He quietly explains, “I guess it never seemed like the right time the last year we had, with you so busy with your studies and me with my Quidditch, and especially with me being good friends with your family; the twins were a vital part of my team, and I knew Ron to some extent, and I always looked up to Charlie, and that made things awkward, but... now I hate that I have to make excuses every time I want to see you. And even then, most of the times you’re at work...”

“You never come to see me,” Percy says dully, but his face has gone a little pale, except where a faint pink dusts under his freckled cheeks.

“I know.” Oliver can feel his own cheeks growing hot. He shakes his head, now standing right next to Percy. Every time they see each other, Percy looks a little different—a little taller, a little older—but always _so_ the same. Oliver hates missing the nuances grow. “I shouldn’t have used your brothers for an excuse, but I didn’t want to impose, and... Percy, I just. I’ve had a crush on you for forever.” Now Percy’s face really is red, and Oliver rushes on, “I guess in Hogwarts I didn’t have to say anything, because it felt like we’d just always be together, and then seventh year we were so caught up with our own goals that I didn’t even think about it, but now that we’re not sleeping right across from each other and coming home to each other anymore.... Fuck, I _miss_ that.” 

Percy has a wooden spoon in his hand. He places it down on the counter as he asks, turning his body to face Oliver’s head-on, “Really?”

“Yes.” Then, somehow, his stupid mouth blurts, “Do you want to go out sometime?” He tries to fix it by adding, “If it’s not too awkward. If you’d be interested.” But that doesn’t help much. 

“You came for me.” Percy makes it more of a statement than a question. He’s still looking at Oliver levelly. “You came for me, not my brothers?”

“Yes.”

Snorting, Percy shakes his head. “They’ll never believe it.”

“I don’t care what they believe. I’ve always liked you better, anyway.”

Again, Percy laughs. This time, it breaks the tension, lets Oliver relax, and he watches the gorgeous upward curve of Percy’s lips and lets the sound wash over him. Percy says, “You just became infinitely hotter to me. I’m no one’s favourite Weasley.”

 _Hotter_. That’s nearly admission. Percy finds him attractive, and even in jest, it looks like there’s some truth in it, and Oliver’s giddy with that, with the ease of the conversation, with having Percy around again. Before he can stop himself, he’s leaning forward, and he lifts one hand to slip along Percy’s cheek. It’s warm and soft beneath his palm, and he brushes his lips over Percy’s, just light and easy for Percy to push away.

Percy stands perfectly still, his lips parting. Oliver murmurs against them, “You’re my favourite everything.”

Then Percy’s arms are around him. It happens so fast that he’s taken by surprise, his shoulders tugged forward and flattening into Percy’s leaner chest. With one fist running through Oliver’s short-cropped hair, Percy pulls him in tight. Their mouths flatten together, hard and insistent; for all of Oliver’s interest, Percy meets him more than halfway. Percy tilts his head first, their noses flush together and the little metal indent of Percy’s glasses rubbing into Oliver’s face. The second Percy’s tongue traces his bottom lip, Oliver opens up to let him inside. 

For a long moment, that’s all Oliver’s world is. He can tell that Percy’s a little inexperienced, but Percy’s still _wild_ , tongue aimlessly tracing him and swirling around his own, lips opening and closing to take more and more of him in. He tastes strange, and it takes Oliver a few seconds to realize it’s zucchini.

When they part long enough for Oliver to take in a shuddering breath, Percy murmurs, “You have _no_ idea how many fantasies I had about this.”

That goes straight to Oliver’s already interested groin. He stops himself from moaning by asking, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The biggest nerd asking out the head of the Quidditch team?” Percy snorts. “My brothers would never let me live it down. Anyway, you dated girls.”

“ _You_ dated girls,” Oliver laughs, knowing that Percy’s lasted longer; his own dalliances always died quickly. Percy was the only person that could ever put up with his obsessive personality for very long. He could never pick someone over Quidditch, which is what they always wanted to hear, but at least he knows that Percy could never choose someone over his career either. Maybe they can be career addicts together. With fond memories, Oliver chides, “Besides, I may have been team captain, but you were a Prefect.”

Groaning, Percy laughs, “Don’t remind me.”

“I thought you were cute, with your nice badge and your sexy authority...”

“You did not just call me sexy.”

“You weren’t the only one with fantasies.”

Percy’s fingers first in his collar and yank him forward again, sealing their mouths back together. Oliver’s got Percy backed up against the counter in a matter of seconds, his leg automatically wedging between Percy’s thighs. He didn’t mean to go so far so fast, but Percy moans into his mouth and locks long arms around him again. Intoxicated with it all, Oliver grinds Percy into the counter. He can feel Percy’s crotch stirring, hardening and reaching out to him, and he’s already straining against the front of his trousers. For a few hungry minutes, he devours Percy’s mouth, and then he decides he needs more leverage. 

He grabs tightly at Percy’s trim hips, tugging Percy out from behind the counter. He spins Percy around, keeping his mouth occupied and guiding him across the kitchen until the back of his legs hits the table. Oliver bends to grab his thighs, hiking him up easily. Percy gasps as he’s made to sit on the table, his legs spread around Oliver. As Oliver drags his kisses down Percy’s chin, nipping hard at his jaw and licking down his throat, Percy moans, “I guess you want a different kind of breakfast...”

Oliver’s hands are already twisting in the hem of Percy’s sweater. When he shoves it up, Percy doesn’t protest, just arches up into him and makes desperate, needy noises that make Oliver so hard he could burst. As he bunches the heavy fabric out of the way, he feels the smooth skin beneath—there’s no shirt below. After dipping his tongue into the dent of Percy’s collarbone, Oliver skims over the bunched up fabric and starts to lick his way down Percy’s creamy chest. He doesn’t have the hard muscles Oliver does, but Oliver likes this better: he’s soft and lean and tall, covered in cute little freckles that make Oliver want to taste every last one. But he’ll have to save that for another day, when he’s already mapped Percy’s body and isn’t consumed with lust for the rest of it. 

He presses a kiss just above the mat of orange curls that dips into Percy’s jeans, and then he pops the first button loose, grateful there’s no belt in the way. As he slides the zipper down, he warns, “Last chance to stop me from seeing the sight of my life.”

Percy tries to laugh, but it comes out hoarse and choked. “Just make sure you return the favour.” Oliver smirks up for one quick moment before he gets Percy’s jeans open, and then he’s busy tugging down the white boxers in the way to get his prize. 

He’s seen Percy naked before, of course. They shared a dorm for seven years, but Oliver never got to kneel down and see Percy’s hard cock up close, hold it right in front of his face. It’s long and lean, like the rest of Percy, dark with want and a hooded head, already crowning out. He clamps his hand around the base as soon as he can, and Percy tosses his head back and _moans_.

Oliver wants to _worship_ it. He wants to kiss through Percy’s curls, lick him all up and down the shaft, suckle on his tight balls and lap away at the head. But Oliver’s impatient and too hungry for it, and instead he just opens his mouth and pops on. He only goes over the head, pressing it along his flattened tongue and closing his mouth around it, sucking hard on the salty taste. Percy’s hips buck off the table, and Oliver has to quickly hold them down while he swirls his tongue along the head, playing with the slit and foreskin. 

The one upside to waiting so long is that he’s had enough cocks in his mouth to know what he’s doing, though the fact that it’s _Percy_ does trip him up. It’s already made him dizzy, and at first, he just has to savour the moment, sliding lovingly down the length and pulling back in languid strokes, while Percy squirms and whimpers beneath him. 

By the time he makes it all the way down to the base, taking Percy completely down his throat with his nose buried in Percy’s stomach, Percy’s whining so loud that Oliver’s sure he’s going to come instantly. Instead, he hears a noise in the background. He’s too lost in the moment to know or care what it is, but Percy suddenly grabs his hair and shoves him off, grunting, “ _Shit_.” It’s so jarring to hear Percy swear that Oliver’s stunned for a second, just standing there while Percy hurriedly pushes his hard, wet cock back into his boxers, doing up his jeans and shoving down his sweater. 

Oliver mumbles, “What?”

But then he hears the familiar sound of Fred and George chattering to one another, and he knows exactly what. Oliver half expects Percy to bolt from the room, pancakes be damned. He’s red right to the tip of his ears. 

The twins are at the mouth of the kitchen a moment later, poking in. One greets, “Hey, Wood!” while the other wrinkles his nose and asks, “You weren’t stuck too long with Perce, were you?”

Oliver opens his mouth, even though his brain’s fried and he has no idea what to say, except that Percy snaps first, “He came to see me.”

The twins jerk back as though scalded, and one says, “No, he didn’t.” The other chimes, “Don’t be daft; he’s playing Quidditch with us.”

But Percy just shoves his hand into Oliver’s, and the next thing Oliver knows, he’s being tugged out of the kitchen right past them. As he’s dragged around the corner and up the steps, he calls to the twins, “Rain check, guys.”

They immediately clamour after him about a rescue, but he turns his back and followers Percy, right until they’re in Percy’s room and the door’s slammed behind him, and he’s being shoved right onto Percy’s childhood bed like it’s going out of style.


End file.
